


My life is here, on the edge of time with you

by turnitintolove



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/F, Peggy has a lot of feelings about Angie being hurt, and everything will be fine, but I may have hurt Angie again, but not a lot, she's fine though, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-13 04:14:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4507374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnitintolove/pseuds/turnitintolove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What I am not prepared to deal with is you getting hurt.  This wasn’t like when your costar broke your nose on stage or when you used to burn yourself at the automat.  These people, Angie, they will kill you.  They will kill you because they know there isn’t anything I can do to recover from that.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	My life is here, on the edge of time with you

She comes home to a broken lamp, an overturned table, and one of Angie’s shoes in the middle of the hallway. It only takes a moment for Peggy to pull out her gun and quickly make her way to the library where she can hear things being thrown and a few grunts of effort.

 

What surprises her the most isn’t that Dottie (or whatever her real name is) is in the far corner of the library, but that Angie is holding her own.  She has what looks like whatever Howard had couriered over slung over her shoulder while she throws every book she can grab at a surprisingly fast rate. In her left had is the ornate fire poker still covered in soot from the evening before.

 

“Leave us alone you crazy Russian!” Each of Angie’s words is punctuated by another book being thrown across the room.

 

“Give me what’s mine.”  Dottie growls from the corner, a pile of books and broken vases surrounding her.

 

“Nothin’ in this house is yours.” More books and a heavy bookend make their way across the room, the bookend smashing into Dottie’s shin.

 

Peggy realizes for a moment that Dottie is trained in many manners.  What she isn’t trained for is anything that has to do with one Angela Martinelli. She allows herself a moment to smile at the woman she loves before stepping into the room and pointing her gun at Dottie.

 

“I really wish I could say it was nice to see you again.”  Another book flies over her head and smacks Dottie in the face.  She growls.

 

“Angie.”  Peggy warns.

 

“Not sorry.”  Angie pants from behind her.

 

“Give me the device and no one will get hurt.” Dottie wipes at her forehead.

 

“I’m not giving you nothin’, unless it’s another shoe to the head.”  Angie shouts from her end of the room.

 

And honestly, when did bringing home espionage work become this?  Peggy sighs. Why couldn’t she have a normal job?

 

“I will enjoy killing you.”  Dottie smiles, reaching into her pocket.

 

Peggy fires her gun, putting a hole in the wall next to Dottie’s right ear, “You reach again and it won’t be the wall I shoot.”

 

“You’re no fun, Peggy.”  Dottie pouts, but keeps her hands out.

 

“She’s a lot of fun!”  Angie shouts again from her end of the room, throwing a small leather bound book at Dottie.

 

Peggy closes her eyes and sighs.

 

“Sorry English.”  She at least sounds a little remorseful.

 

“What do you want, Dottie.”  Peggy asks, stepping over an overturned chair to get a better view of Dottie.

 

“I want Howard’s new toy.  I hear it does a doozie on anyone within fifty feet of it.” Her eyes gleam in a wicked way that chills the room.  “I heard he was sending it here for safekeeping, didn’t realize the Katzenfresser would be here to get in the way.”  She chuckles at herself and Peggy doesn’t need to turn around to see that Angie is fuming.

 

Peggy shoots Dottie’s right foot, “You will watch what you call her.”

 

Dottie smiles and Peggy hates the way it makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand, “Oh I _see_ now.”  She laughs and the world goes to hell.

 

The room blurs as Dottie wraps herself around Peggy, pulling her back flush against Dottie’s front.  Dottie’s hands quickly wrap around Peggy’s, holding the gun out towards Angie.  They all freeze.

 

“This is so much more fun, don’t you think?” Dottie’s voice is sweet as it whispers past Peggy’s ear.  Angie shifts to the side, “No no, you have to play too.”  She jerks Peggy’s hands to follow Angie’s movements with the gun they both hold.

 

“Angie,” Peggy breathes.

 

She’s never seen Peggy so afraid; she’s seen her wake from a nightmare, blindly reaching for Angie next to her in bed only to pull her close until she drifts back to sleep.  But the fear that shines from Peggy’s eyes keeps Angie still, the book and fire poker in her hands falling to the floor.

 

“The English soldier found love? And with the poor little waitress. How sweet.”  Dottie moves their joined hands, finding different targets on Angie’s body with the gun they hold together.  “What would your dear sweet Captain think?”

 

“You leave Cap outta this.”  Angie demands, trying not to shake.

 

Dottie watches Angie with curious eyes, trying to figure her out.  “I don’t like puzzles I can’t figure out.”  She says seriously.

 

Peggy feels her finger squeezed between Dottie’s finger and the smooth metal of the trigger. 

 

“Angie!”  Peggy cries as she hears the bullet being fired.

 

Dottie is gone before Angie falls to the floor, sliding down the bookcase, clutching at the blossoming wound at her side. Howard’s invention forgotten over the chaos Dottie has created.

 

“Angie?”  Peggy is at her side in seconds, pulling her close and pressing her palm over Angie’s hand. “I’m going to get you help.” She reaches to the side, pulling the telephone off the nearest table and shouting a protocol number at the young SHIELD operator who answers.  “Help is coming.”

 

“I thought I told you not to bring your work home with you.” Angie tries to smile, she gasps when Peggy shifts above her.

 

“I’m so sorry Angie, I am so so sorry.” Peggy grabs for the throw blanket that rests on the back of the sofa they sit behind, pressing it to Angie’s wound.

 

“You didn’t do nothin’,” Angie slurs.

 

“No no, keep your eyes on me darling, keep them open.” Peggy pleads, holding her even closer and ignoring the blood that stains the both of them.

 

They go back and forth for what feels like hours; Angie pleading with Peggy to let her sleep while Peggy cries and begs her to stay awake, to stay with her.  Peggy pulls her closer when she hears the doors below bang open with shouts of _Director Carter?_ They find them in the back of the library; Angie pale and gasping for breath while Peggy holds her close, begging for life to stay in her.

 

“Director, you need to let her go.” One of her agents, a young man, tells her.

 

“What?”  Her grips tightens.

 

“The doctor is here and you need to let him do his job, ma’am.”  He helps ease Angie’s body out of her arms and lay her out for the staff doctor who kneels quickly in the damp carpet.

 

Peggy watches in terror as he tears at her blouse, to inspect the wound.  His words sound muffled as he asks his assistant for tools and begins to pull out the bullet.  The only thing she hears is Angie’s scream.  Peggy moves to sit by Angie’s head, running her hands through her hair and down her face. Anything to calm her while the doctor works to fix the damage caused by Peggy’s gun.

 

“You’re going to be alright, darling. I’ve got you.” She forgets sometimes that Angie is a civilian; that she isn’t used to field medics operating in dire situations.  She’ll understand, hopefully, once this is all over why they couldn’t spare the time for an anesthetic.  That she was moments from bleeding out in their library and Peggy couldn’t stand to lose her.

 

“Stop please, make it stop.”  Angie begs, gripping with weak hands at the knees of the agent who holds her down.  “Peggy? Please?”  Her blurry eyes search for Peggy above her, tears collecting in her hairline.

 

“I’m right here, darling, I’m right here.” She kisses Angie’s forehead, now warm and damp with sweat.  “Please do something.”  She tells the medic.

 

He nods to his assistant who nods to a nurse sitting behind them.  Peggy watches her sit next to the agent and injects the sedative; Angie’s body goes slack in a way that makes Peggy shudder.

 

“Sleep my love, I’ll be here when you wake.” She whispers, pressing a lingering kiss to Angie’s forehead.

 

They sit on the floor for another two hours while the doctor works to fix her, muttering about needing a pay raise when this is all over. Peggy silently agrees if Angie makes it through the night and the next several thousand.

 

The agents in the room help move Angie to the nearest bedroom once she has been stitched and bandaged.  She looks ghostly and Peggy hates it.

 

“We’ll send a cleaner first thing tomorrow.” Another agent tells her. “What would you like to do with the weapon?”

 

“Weapon?”  Peggy asks, not taking her eyes from Angie, watching the way her chest rises and falls with each breath.

 

“The gun?  The one the Russian agent fired.”  He holds up her own gun, now sitting in an evidence bag.

 

“Get rid of it.”  Peggy thinks of how it felt to have no control over her own weapon.

 

“And the Stark invention?”

 

“Lock it up until he returns from whatever island he’s residing on.”  She sighs, running a hand through her hair.

 

“Anything else, Director?”

 

“No, thank you.”

 

He leaves the doorway and she can hear him delivering her orders to the other agents who remain.  One will stay on the roof, another two on the street and two more inside the penthouse.  She doesn’t care if she’s being paranoid, she will not allow Dottie another open window to come in and finish what she started.

 

Peggy bathes with the door open so she can see into the bedroom.  Her eyes never leaving Angie’s body on the bed.  Her blood washes off, turning the water pink as it swirls around the drain. She doesn’t want to think about how this night could have ended with a coroner instead of a grumpy medic and his assistants.  She doesn’t want to think about how Angie’s body felt so heavy in her arms as her life drained out of her and into Peggy’s open palm.  Peggy doesn’t choke back the sob that escapes her.

 

She crawls under the covers, careful not to jostle Angie as she rests.  Though she presses the length of her body against Angie’s, needing to feel her close. She smells of lavender, sweat, and copper. Peggy presses her face to where Angie’s shoulder meets her neck and lets herself cry until she falls asleep. She wakes every few hours; panicked and checking that Angie is still warm and breathing. She always is.

 

Angie wakes, groaning and grumpy the following evening and Peggy cries again.

 

“Peggy?”  Angie’s voice is hoarse, but it is the most beautiful sound Peggy’s ever heard.

 

“I’m here, Angie, I’m right here.” Peggy cups her face, kissing her eyelids, her cheeks, and finally desperate kisses to her lips. “I’m here.”

 

“Did I dream it?”  Angie asks, searching Peggy’s worried face with bleary eyes.

 

Peggy sighs and kisses her again, “No, you didn’t.”

 

“Did you get her?”  She asks, this time with fear in her voice.

 

“No.”  Angie’s eyes focus and widen, “There are several agents stationed to protect you. I’ll be making it a permanent position.”

 

“They’re going to hate it.”  She tries to joke, but Peggy can see the relief in her eyes.

 

“Your safety is more important than their happiness at work.”  Peggy assures her, brushing her thumb along Angie’s chapped lower lip.

 

“Did she get Howard’s fancy new doohickey?”

 

“She did not.  You were rather distracting with your fairly accurate throwing arm.” Peggy smiles, and stands from the bed despite Angie’s whine of protest.  “You need water, darling.”

 

Angie drinks greedily from the cup Peggy holds for her, relaxing back into the pillows once she’s drained it.

 

“Rest, my love.”  Peggy smiles when she falls back to sleep quickly. It may be the only time she’s never argued back with Peggy.

 

The gentle knock that comes moments later takes Peggy by surprise.  What doesn’t surprise her is Jarvis standing on the other side holding a cup of tea and wearing a worried expression.

 

“Mr. Sousa informed me that there was an emergency at your home and that you wouldn’t be in the office for some time, only when pressed for detail did he inform me that Miss Martinelli was injured by that Russian maniac whose name I will not speak.”  He takes a breath and finally looks at Peggy, “Please tell me that she isn’t –”

 

“Angie is fine, Mr. Jarvis.”  Her heart swells when she sees him relax, “She’s resting.”

 

“May I see her?”  He asks, handing the cup of tea to Peggy.

 

“Of course.”  She allows him into the room and watches him stand above her. They’ve become an odd pair of friends. Bonding while bickering in the kitchen and over the laundry.  Arguing about which herbs will grow best on the rooftop garden.  When he bends to kiss her forehead she realizes quite suddenly that while Angie has many older brothers, Mr. Jarvis has only one younger sister, and she is laying on the bed before him.  They’ve become an odd sort of family.

 

“I shall return in the morning to prepare meals since Miss Martinelli is not well enough to keep you from starving.” He turns to face Peggy, giving her a small smile.

 

“Thank you, Mr. Jarvis.”  She smiles back, accepting the jab at her lack of cooking skills.

 

“Good night, Miss Carter.  Thank you for not letting her, well, thank you.” He lets himself out of the bedroom, closing the door with a soft click.

 

“You Brits are real softies when no one is looking.” Angie mumbles, not opening her eyes.

 

“You’re supposed to be resting.” Peggy sits on the edge of the bed, running her fingers through Angie’s matted hair.

 

“Hard to when there’s so many feelings flying around the room.”  She opens her eyes again and smiles.

 

“Rest.”

 

“Mkay.”  She mumbles again, drifting off to sleep again.

 

They fall into a strange new schedule for the following weeks.  Mr. Jarvis arrives, nodding to the agents now stationed around the penthouse, to prepare meals that Angie deems boring and _can we please stop eating chicken and rice?_   While Peggy does paperwork from the small desk in the corner of the bedroom.

 

Every other evening, Peggy helps Angie into a shallow bath where she listens to Angie complain about how bored she is.

 

“Angie, your body needs time to heal.” Peggy tells her for what must be the hundredth time that hour, running the warm water through her hair to rinse it.

 

“Last time you came home hurt you went back to work three days later.”  She argues.

 

“I hadn’t been shot.”

 

Angie counts on her fingers, “Three broken ribs, sprained ankle, sprained knee, sprained wrist, stitches on your hairline, split lip, very bruised face.”

 

“I was fine.”  She leans over the edge of the tub to kiss Angie’s temple.

 

“You were not.  And then you went back to work after I told you to stay and rest.” She protests again.

 

“Angie,” Peggy sighs, “It’s part of my job. Getting hurt, dealing with it, and going back into battle.”

 

“Last time I checked, the war’s been over for a while.” Angie plucks at some of the bubbles that float along the water.

 

“You know what I mean.”  Peggy moves to sit on the edge of the tub, gently pulling Angie’s face to look up at her.  “What I am not prepared to deal with is you getting hurt.  This wasn’t like when your costar broke your nose on stage or when you used to burn yourself at the automat.  These people, Angie, they will kill you.  They will kill you because they know there isn’t anything I can do to recover from that.”  Peggy breathes for a moment, not brushing away the tears that have fallen down her cheeks. She stares at Angie in the bath, taking in the red and angry flesh that is stitched together at her side.

 

“I’ll stop whining.”  Angie tells her instead of _I’m sorry.  I’m sorry you fell in love with someone who can’t fight back._

Peggy laughs, “No you won’t.” She kisses her again, until she hears Angie groan from the pain in her side.  “Lets get you dried off, shall we?”

 

She helps Angie out of the tub and onto the carpet where she dries her off; careful of where she’s stitched together. They’re both quiet while Peggy applies the healing salve the doctor left with them, her fingers gentle as she rubs it into Angie’s skin.  Next she wraps the bandage snug around her torso, pinning it together once she’s finished.

 

“Can we eat on the balcony?”  Angie asks once she’s in the silk dressing gown she stole from Peggy.

 

“Of course.”  Peggy kisses her head, lingering just a moment longer than usual. “I’ll fetch Mr. Jarvis’ latest batch of bland chicken and join you in a moment.”

 

“I won’t tell him you said that.” Angie calls after her retreating form.

 

They eat quietly in the dimming sunlight, watching the sun disappear behind the buildings.

 

Angie doesn’t complain when Peggy ushers her inside at the first sign of a chill.  And she doesn’t roll her eyes when Peggy wraps her in one of the soft throw blankets they have.  She does sigh contentedly when Peggy pulls her close and reads quietly from her worn copy of _The African Queen._ Her voice lulling Angie to sleep before she reaches the end of the next chapter.

 

She reads on, relishing the feeling of Angie’s weight pressed against her, the way her body feels with each breath she takes and releases.  Peggy kisses her forehead, smiling when Angie mumbles for her to keep reading, that she hasn’t fallen asleep again.

 

“Of course, darling.”

**Author's Note:**

> Katzenfresser is a German slur for Italians. It made sense that Dottie would have been around enough Germans to pick it up.
> 
> Title comes from the musical Doctor Zhivago.


End file.
